Ever Trust
by Goddess of the Dark
Summary: AU. Christine finds herself overwhelmed with emotions as she becomes pursued by four men: Two brothers vying for her affections, another wanting her dead, and a passionate musical genius desperately wishing to capture her heart.


**Ever Trust**

**By Dark Goddess **

**A/N: My first Phantom fic... sort of. Hope you like it! I wrote in on kind of a whim, so I'm not sure how it's going to turn out yet. **

**Disc: Me no own. You no sue. **

* * *

_He is no angel._

Christine Daae stifled an angry sigh as she stared at the blood-red rose in her hand. She'd suspected, she'd been doubtful… but she hadn't wanted to believe it. But the rose in her hand proved it. Angels didn't send roses. Not like this. Angels didn't talk to her like this angel did… not that she'd know.

But she knew this: she was not supposed to have feelings for an angel like this. She wasn't supposed to blush every time she heard his unearthly voice, she wasn't supposed to be thinking of him almost every minute of the day and dreaming of him at night, she wasn't supposed to be… feeling something extremely strong for him.

But she was.

Despite the fact that he had lied to her – she had still to figure out the reason why – she couldn't help it; she couldn't help having feelings for him. She still wasn't exactly sure what those feelings were, but she knew that it was like nothing she had felt before.

Christine let out a frustrated noise and fell back onto her bed. This was too confusing for an eighteen-year-old girl.

"Christine!"

Christine's eyes snapped open, and she sat up wearily. "In here, Meg!" She called out. Meg Giry came flouncing into the room, her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Christine, get out here! You'll never _guess _what's going on out there!"

"No, I probably won't… so just let me know when it's over." Christine smirked and closed her eyes. Meg glared and punched her shoulder.

"Christine, I mean it! Come!" The slim, blonde ballerina yanked her best friend out of bed and pulled her along the various corridors of the Opera Populaire. Christine tried not to be too irritated at the interruption, but she couldn't help but be just a bit curious as well. She hoped, however, that it wasn't another Opera Ghost sighting.

"This had better not be about the Opera Ghost," Christine voiced.

"Not this time!" Meg grinned, but suddenly stopped. Christine nearly crashed into her friend but stopped herself in time. She opened her mouth to say something to Meg, but the words stopped short as she found herself gazing up at her least favorite stagehand Joseph Buquet as he leered down at both of them.

"Goin' somewhere?" He sneered, his eyes darting to Christine. She stared back coolly.

"Indeed. Somewhere away from you."

Meg stifled a grin, but her eyes became fearful as Buquet's lip curled, and he took a menacing step towards Christine. She didn't move, but her heart was beating wildly.

"Think that's funny, do ya?" He growled. "Makin' fun of me, pretty?"

"Did I laugh?" Christine said coldly. Her deep brown eyes glared into his, and he seemed ready to lunge at her. Both stood like that for a moment until he backed away slowly.

"You just watch it, pretty," he hissed. "One day that attitude of yers will come back to haunt ya."

"Like the Opera Ghost?" Christine said, allowing mild amusement to creep into her voice. "If so, I have nothing to be worried about."

Buquet snorted. "Ya think he's not real? Ya think he's not watching ya right now?"

Christine shrugged. "I'll believe when I see. So far, I've never seen this parchment-faced, no-nosed ghost you brag about. I think it's something you make up to scare girls like my friend here." Meg swallowed.

"Christine, let's just go," she whispered.

Christine's lips pressed together. "If there is an Opera Ghost, prove it."

He sneered. She smirked.

"You can't."

"Then how d'ya explain all the things that go on in here?" He demanded.

"Undoubtedly you or one of your stagehand friends," she said simply. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go." She took her friend's hand and pushed past Buquet, but he suddenly grabbed her arm, shoving Meg with the other, and slammed Christine into the wall, his hand moving to her neck.

"Ye'd better watch that pretty mouth a'yours, girl," he rasped furiously, his hand tightening on her neck. She gasped and tried to pry his hand off, but he just laughed. She kicked him, but it had no effect. Christine could only barely hear Meg scream…

Christine watched in shock as a sudden knife screamed out of nowhere and embedded itself in Buquet's shoulder. He yelped in pain, released her, and moved his hand to the knife, faltering backwards.

Christine rubbed her throat, coughing, as she stumbled away from Buquet. To her sudden horror… a blood-red rose fell onto the floor in front of her.

_No… _

"Now whaddaya think about the Opera Ghost?" Buquet roared as Meg grabbed her and pulled her away from the dark passageway.

"It can't be…" Christine whispered.

But it was true.

_There is an Opera Ghost… he's my angel. _

Christine turned and fled down the corridor, Meg trailing closely behind her.

* * *

"And I would like to introduce you to the gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire," Monsieur LeFevre was saying to the opera body as he motioned to two men beside him, "Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre." Everyone clapped politely as the two men bowed.

"And we are exceptionally honored to introduce our patrons," Firmin announced, "The De Chagny family: Comte Phillipe De Chagny and his younger brother, the Vicomte Raoul De Chagny."

The clapping was louder this time as the two handsome gentlemen stepped forth. A few female whistles were heard from some of the ballerinas and chorus girls.

"Why must I be here again?" Raoul muttered to his brother as they approached the managers.

"Just be quiet," his older brother berated as he plastered a smile on his face and shook the managers' hands. "A pleasure, gentlemen. Thank you for allowing us to share in your great triumph."

Firmin nodded. "A great honor, sir."

LeFevre stepped in as a slim, tall, older woman in a black gown came forth, eyeing the two managers with some disdain. "And please allow me to introduce our famed ballet tutor Madame Marie Giry." The gentlemen nodded politely.

"Monsieurs," Mme Giry said coolly, her discerning gaze making the two older men somewhat uncomfortable.

As a woman with bright red hair and decked in a fabulously grandiose gown flounced up to them and began to speak, "I am La Carlotta!-" There was a bang, and everyone turned to see two young women burst onstage, one in tears, and the other with strange bruises around her neck. Her face was constricted with emotions – fear, anger, confusion, pain, frustration – her doe brown eyes suddenly fixed on Mme Giry, and the elder woman gasped.

There was a collective murmur of shock as the bruised young woman abruptly collapsed.

* * *

**I know I jumped right into it, but I wanted to. I don't want to drag the beginning out by having her meet Erik as her angel and going through the whole charade. We already know what happened - I'm starting from the point of the change of managers and AU onward. I don't want to overplay the whole Erik as angel thing. **

**- DG - **


End file.
